Amnesia
by Clez
Summary: SUSPENDED (Chapters 7 THRU 9 are now HERE!) Finally! Something strange is going on with the crew. Kinda inspired by a Voyager episode, but to find out which one, you'll have to read it. R&R please :) Thanks. WIP
1. The Bounty Hunter

CHAPTER 1;  
  
THE BOUNTY HUNTER  
  
  
  
A thick fog filled the night air, and it was difficult to see, let alone travel without colliding with anything or anyone. This was normal weather though, and he ignored it, able to pick out distinct shapes in the thick fog.  
  
He stood in an alcove in the city centre, the wind buffeting his hair and clothes. His brown hair was swept around his blue eyes, and, as with the weather, he ignored that too. His long leather coat whipped around his legs, and he buried his gloved hands deep in his pockets.  
  
He watched, waiting for the person he had been tracking all night, finally following him all the way to this seedy bar, where the man no doubt intended to consume more than a healthy dose of liquor.  
  
It won't matter, he thought with a sly smile from the shadows, watching the door intently, his eyes barely moving from the opening, he won't be around long enough to regret it.  
  
He loved his work. it was so satisfying, even if it was illegal. That meant nothing to him. those damn law officials were ignorant anyway, they hadn't managed to catch him yet. What made this time any different?  
  
And then it happened, the one moment he had been waiting for; the door cracked open, and out stumbled a tousled, roughed-up man, a bottle gripped in his hand.  
  
He smiled again, and stepped silently out of the shadows, his boots failing to make a noise on the concrete.  
  
He followed a safe distance behind the man, watching and taking mental note of his every move. He wanted to wait until the right moment, when no one would notice.  
  
The man turned into an alley, mumbling something to himself under his breath.  
  
He followed him in, removing his hands from his pockets, and delving beneath the black coat.  
  
A blade glinted in the overhead lamp, and he crept up behind the man, driving the weapon deep into the man's back, taking hold of the bottle so that his victim would not drop it, drawing attention to the scene.  
  
The man had no time to cry out, as he quickly died, living long enough to stare back at him, into the eyes of his murderer.  
  
He kept a tight hold of the bottle as the man dropped lifelessly to the ground, blood spilling from the wound in his back.  
  
As he stared down at the dead man, that same sly smile creeping over his lips, he took a swig from the bottle, grimacing at the strong alcoholic flavour. He quickly downed the contents, and laid it beside the man.  
  
He walked back out of the alleyway, having wiped his blade free of the man's blood, replacing it back into its sheath.  
  
He ran a gloved hand through his wild brown hair, and looked around. There was no one in sight.  
  
Something chirped from inside his coat, and he reached inside, and removed a communications device from an inside pocket. He held it to his ear.  
  
"Reed here." 


	2. The Greasemonkey

CHAPTER 2;  
  
THE GREASEMONKEY  
  
  
  
"Okay, from the look of these relays, this is pretty much shot," he said, wiping his hands on a rag, "I don't think this is ever gonna work again."  
  
His customer frowned, looking down at the vehicle, with scratches and dents. Clearly the gentleman had had the ship for quite some time, and now it was finally going to have to be put to rest. in a scrap yard. And it seemed as though he had grown quite attached to the wreck.  
  
"Are you sure there's nothing you can do about it?" the man asked.  
  
Tucking the filthy rag into one of his overall pockets, he crossed his arms, looking down contemplatively at the vehicle, and shook his head. "I'm sorry."  
  
The customer grumbled, his yellow eyes looking from the mechanic to the vehicle. "What if I double the price?"  
  
The mechanic laughed, and then said, "Listen, I'm tellin' you that this is busted beyond repair. If you had brought it to me earlier, I mighta been able to do somethin' about it. but now." He shrugged. "Extra cash ain't gonna change a thing."  
  
The customer sighed, and nodded. "Alright. Looks like I need a new ship then."  
  
"Yep," the mechanic agreed, and then glanced to the customer. "Mind if I keep this? I can probably salvage some parts."  
  
The customer shrugged with a defeated nod. "Why not? I can't use it anymore."  
  
With that the customer walked away, leaving the grubby mechanic behind in his small workshop with the small wrecked ship.  
  
The mechanic looked down at it, and then to his name badge, which was covered in grease and dirt. Removing the rag once again, he wiped the dirt off the badge, and then sighed.  
  
'Trip' shone through on the nametag.  
  
He loved to work with ships and all things mechanical and all things containing engineering, but sometimes he felt like he was stuck in a rut. This was the third busted ship he had written off this week. It felt like he wasn't doing anything constructive with his talents.  
  
And there was another thing. He felt out of place around here. he didn't look or act like his customers, and he had always thought that was because he was an individual. but now he wasn't so sure. He didn't belong here. he was an alien.  
  
But it didn't feel right to call himself an alien. maybe these people, his customers, were the aliens. What if he didn't belong here at all?  
  
He smiled a lopsided smile, and picked up a tool from the bench, ready to get to work on salvaging the parts he wanted. 


	3. The Diplomat

CHAPTER 3;  
  
  
  
THE DIPLOMAT  
  
  
  
The men around him just weren't listening to a word he was saying, and that annoyed the hell out of him. He waited until they had finished arguing, and then placed a hand on the table, smiling at the others.  
  
"I don't think our problem is with intercity relations at all," he said, his voice gentle, but authorative, "I think it's all about arrogance, and your pride. If we-"  
  
The arguing started up again, most of the shouts and disagreements aimed directly at him.  
  
"Gentlemen!" he called to them, and held his hands up, standing from his seat, and pacing around the room.  
  
All eyes turned on him, and silence fell on the room. For once, the arrogant men had quieted themselves enough to be spoken to. have things said to them that would hopefully improve intercity relations in the surrounding area.  
  
The cities in this area had always had a problem with their lack of hospitality towards one another. There were always disagreements, hostility, even violence. All they needed was someone to bring them all together, and rid them of this attitude.  
  
And that someone had come in the shape of a man named Archer, a stranger from far away, one who claimed he could solve just about any dispute, and problem.  
  
So they had made him a diplomat for the people, and he was proving to be a very good one at that.  
  
"I think what we need to do is hold more of these meetings, and in each one, try and come up with an answer for a different problem that we're having. In time, we should be able to sort our way slowly, and patiently, through just about everything that's proving to be difficult."  
  
The men looked him in the eye, and one by one, they started to nod and smile. They seemed to agree with his idea. they seemed to even like his idea.  
  
This was progress. it was great. It was just what this city needed before it fell apart, or was torn apart from the outside by the other surrounding cities. Hopefully, they could agree on more things to come, and these things would lead to peace in the area.  
  
He smiled to himself, and retook his seat, leaning back in it happily.  
  
He was born to do this work. 


	4. A Law Official

CHAPTER 4;  
  
  
  
A LAW OFFICIAL  
  
  
  
She ran as fast as her legs would allow, feeling the adrenalin surge through her, and her muscles burn with the chase. Fellow officers chased with her, but none were as fast as her, and she soon raced on ahead of them, gaining ground on the criminal quickly.  
  
The man had taken it upon himself to break into a store and steal some valuable jewellery, but not before he had set off the alarm, attracting the law officials.  
  
With a burst of speed, she caught up with the man, and knocked him to the ground, hard, winding him in the process.  
  
The other officers came to a halt beside her, and one bent down to restrain the criminal.  
  
"Good work," one of her fellow officers said, and patted her on the back.  
  
She raised an eyebrow. "I was merely doing my duty."  
  
"That's what you always say," he retaliated, and went to help with the arrest.  
  
Someone handed the stolen jewellery to her, and she inspected it, making sure none of it was damaged, and that it was all present. The criminal hadn't lost any at least.  
  
"You may take him to the cells, I will see if I can track down any more thieves. He may have had an accomplice," she said.  
  
The other officer smiled, and nodded. "Alright then. Contact me if you need any help."  
  
Without saying a word, she moved off, her keen eyes searching the streets, her exceptional hearing listening for any sounds of break in or other peculiar noises.  
  
She walked slowly, taking in everything around her, even though she had walked these streets dozens of times. or so it felt.  
  
T'Pol felt as though she were new to this place, there was a sense of discovery every time she went somewhere, something new caught her eye. There was always something different about a place.  
  
She knew she was different from her colleagues, but that was just because she was. well, different. There was no explanation for it. She looked and acted differently and that suited her just fine. She was individual; original in everything she did and said.  
  
She rounded a corner, and suddenly stopped dead in her tracks.  
  
There was man lying on the ground, deep scarlet blood pouring from a stab wound on his back. Standing next to him was an empty liquor bottle.  
  
She knelt down to feel for a pulse. After a couple of moments, she deduced the man was definitely dead, and he had been for some time, at least six hours. His skin was pale and cold, and the blood was congealing.  
  
Standing to her full height again, she retrieved her communication radio, and spoke into it, "T'Pol here. I have found a dead body. It seems he was stabbed."  
  
"Understood, we'll be there shortly."  
  
She stared down at the body, and wondered why the man had been stabbed in the back. If there had been a struggle -even though there were no signs of one-, it was more likely that the man would have been stabbed from the front. not from behind.  
  
Someone had snuck up on him, killed him before the man had been able to react.  
  
Then why had the bottle landed so perfectly, and upright for that matter?  
  
T'Pol raised an eyebrow, and waited for her fellow officers. 


	5. The Doctor Is In

CHAPTER 5;  
  
  
  
THE DOCTOR IS IN  
  
  
  
He looked down at the dead body as it lay lifeless on the cold metal gurney, and sighed. Another one for the morgue. It was a shame. So many people had been murdered lately. it was either random killers, or the work of a bounty hunter. There were a lot of them around the city, but none so efficient as the one that had caused the local morgue to fill up lately.  
  
Phlox could tell it was the same man. the technique was always the same. The victim was usually stabbed from behind, in the back. The wound was deep, normally hitting a vital organ, killing the victim very quickly. Plus, the victims were always found in an alley, or some other quiet place. But, he realised, it could just be a coincidence.  
  
He looked up at the officer, as she too stared down at the body. Her eyes did not betray any of her emotions, so it was difficult for the Doctor to determine how she was feeling in reaction to the discovery.  
  
She seemed to show no emotion of any kind. He didn't know why this was.  
  
He ignored it, and turned back to the body.  
  
"Can you determine the identity of the attacker?" she asked of him, and he scanned the man's body, looking for signs of unusual DNA, or anything similar.  
  
"No, it seems as though the knife just. well, I cannot," Phlox told her.  
  
The officer tilted her head elegantly to one side slightly, and asked, "And what of the bottle? Are there any fingerprints on it?"  
  
"I was under the impression that fingerprints were your area, but from what I can tell," he said, running his scanner briefly over the bottle, "there are no traces of any on this bottle, besides that of the victim."  
  
"So you are saying that the man calmly drank his alcohol, and then set the bottle down before he was stabbed?"  
  
"I can't come to any other conclusion. Perhaps he put it down and was about to walk away when he was attacked," Phlox offered, replacing the scanner neatly onto the tray beside him.  
  
"I believe the attacker finished the bottle, and then set it down beside the dead body," the female officer said to him, her arms linked loosely behind her back.  
  
Phlox shrugged. "Well, if he did, he didn't leave any trace of DNA on the mouth of the bottle. It is clear he was wearing gloves though, otherwise I should have been able to locate some of his DNA on the neck of the bottle, or even on the clothes of the victim."  
  
"Very well. Thank you, Doctor."  
  
The officer walked away, leaving the Doctor to his thoughts, and his work alone in the silent laboratory.  
  
He looked down at the body, and sighed. Something about this job just felt so. so monotonous. He was asked again and again to perform autopsies on murder victims, and lately they were just rolling in.  
  
Phlox wished to do more fulfilling work. such as work with the living for once. But he had been doing this work for as long as he could remember.  
  
With another heavy sigh, he got to work on his autopsy. 


	6. A Talented Young Pilot

CHAPTER 6;  
  
  
  
A TALENTED YOUNG PILOT  
  
  
  
He glanced over his shoulder at his customers as they boarded. They strapped theirselves comfortably into the seats, and spoke to him, "We would like to go to the city hall, please."  
  
"No problem," he said cheerily, and brought the small ship to life, taking it up over the city, and flying it towards the city centre, where the city hall was situated.  
  
As he piloted, something just felt right about it. He felt as though he had been born to fly, and he yearned for space travel, something out of this atmosphere. He wished to see the stars and planets that were just beyond their small corner of the galaxy. Even though he had never set foot outside of the planet's atmosphere, he felt as though he had had some experience out there. Perhaps he had dreamed it.  
  
He smiled to himself, and flew the small ship smoothly over the city. He looked down at the buildings, and watched carefully for other craft. The last thing he wanted was a collision.  
  
Within no time at all, he landed the ship beside city hall, and his passengers had paid their fare, and left the small craft.  
  
He sat there in his piloting seat, and watched the people pass by him.  
  
Someone else got onto the ship, and he turned to look at them.  
  
It was a man, and from the looks of him, one who was very similar to the pilot himself. The only difference was their skin; the passenger had light skin, whereas the pilot was dark-skinned.  
  
The man was clad in black, and wearing a long leathery coat that rested around his ankles. He wore heavy black boots that thudded on the grating as he walked over to a seat, and gloves on his hands. His hair was brown and wild, and he looked to the pilot with blue eyes.  
  
"Where to?"  
  
The man was very blunt, and had a very distinct voice, one that would probably get stuck in the pilot's head all day, "The stadium."  
  
"Okay," the pilot said with a nod, and closed up the shuttle. He would have to refuel soon. he had made nearly ten trips back and forwards across the city today alone. It paid well though. even though it didn't feel quite right to take people's money for something the young pilot loved to do.  
  
Travis, with that same youthful smile, took off, and started the ship going over the city, the stadium already in sight. The man in the back probably could have walked to the stadium.  
  
Travis didn't even know there was an event today. Maybe it was a spur of the moment thing. maybe this man owned the stadium.  
  
He shook his head discreetly, and banished the thought. This man didn't look as though he could own a stadium. He was very dark, and mysterious, and something about him made Travis shiver. Something was familiar about his features as well. he had probably just seen the man around the city sometime recently.  
  
Travis started to land the shuttle again, watching the pad below him carefully. Sometimes, careless children ran onto the landing pad, and were crushed beneath the sheer mass of the transport ships.  
  
Travis wasn't eager to do anything like that, and so, when he felt the smooth landing, he smiled happily.  
  
"Thanks," the man said quickly, paid him, and left in what seemed to be a hurry.  
  
Travis watched him from out of the window, and looked down at the wad of money he had been given. The fare was only half the amount he had received, and he felt his brow furrow.  
  
With a shrug, he locked the money in the compartment beneath the console, and waited for his next customer. 


	7. An Ambassador Speaks

CHAPTER 7;  
  
  
  
AN AMBASSADOR SPEAKS  
  
  
  
This was an exciting time. aliens were coming to their city, and it was her job to make them feel welcome.  
  
As ambassador, her duty was a very fulfilling one, one that came with a lot of new experiences. She had already greeted three new alien species' this week alone. She had lost count of anything outside of this week, and she realised that it didn't matter all that much how many aliens she had greeted and made alliances with.  
  
She waited with three law officials, eager to meet the new visitors, and learn their language. She was the front line of communication between these people.  
  
She had always had a talent for languages, and she knew that she had always been able to pick them up easily. It took a little work, but after a couple of practices, and periods of just staring at their language, she could normally pick it up.  
  
For now, she was using a crude translator that would translate simple phrases, such as 'Hello', and other such rudimentary things.  
  
And then she saw them, walking towards her, and the figure in the middle seemed to be their leader. He wore exquisite jewellery, and fine garments made from delicate fabric. He was tall. assuming he was a he. There was no hair on his head, and his eyes appeared to a gentle shade of purple.  
  
She smiled at them, and held out her hand to greet them.  
  
After a couple of moments of simply staring at the offered hand, the alien took it in his, and shook it, clearly recognising the custom.  
  
His skin was cold, and the colour of the ground they stood on now.  
  
She pointed at herself, and said one word, her name, "Hoshi."  
  
The alien cocked his head, and copied her.  
  
She shook her head with a smile, and repeated her self, again, with the action, "Hoshi."  
  
Then she pointed at him, and cocked her own head slightly.  
  
He seemed to smile as he understood, and pointed to himself, saying in a silky smooth voice that was music to her ears, "Rintah."  
  
"Hello, Rintah," she said slowly, so that the translator would be able to pick up on it, and try to translate it. Inside the crude device was a tiny scanner, one that scanned the alien, and tried to pick up his language. It was harmless, and the science of it was lost on her.  
  
After a couple of silent moments, he said, "Hello, Hoshi."  
  
She felt like cheering in triumph, but simply laughed quietly, and held out her hand for him to take, so that she could show them to the conference hall. There, they would meet officials from all over the city, and they would start a dialogue, with Hoshi's help. This way, they could define some sort of alliance, and an agreement that would benefit them both.  
  
Hoshi felt his cool skin on hers as Rintah accepted her hand, and she led the way. 


	8. Perceptions

CHAPTER 8;  
  
PERCEPTIONS  
  
  
  
Trip was just about finished with the removal of the parts he wanted, most of which had been repairable. Some of them had been completely broken, and Trip had been forced to dispose of them.  
  
He had no doubt the gentlemen would be back to demand money for the parts, but Trip could probably afford it anyway. He made a considerable amount doing what he did, and that suited him fine. As long as he made enough to keep himself going, there was no problem.  
  
As he worked, one of the components in the compartment beside him crackled, and sparked.  
  
He looked at it, and sighed. Maybe this pile of trash had some life left in it yet. He wasn't interested in that though. he just wanted the parts.  
  
As he watched the compartment beside him to make sure it didn't spark again, his tool touched against what had to be a live wire, and Trip was sent flying backwards across the room, landing roughly on the floor.  
  
* * *  
  
Reed checked his surroundings, and then ducked into the passage going alongside the stadium, his keen eyes searching for his employer.  
  
After no more than a couple of minutes, he caught sight of them, and calmly walked over to them.  
  
They stood still in the darkness, passing for nothing more than shadows, but as he drew closer, their features became clearer to him. He had seen them before, but still now they seemed strange, and unfamiliar. Their eyes were of a peculiar shade, and their skin was darker than his, somewhere in between his own, and that of the shuttle pilot he had seen earlier that day.  
  
"You have done as we asked," one of them said, his voice rasping and hoarse.  
  
"Yes, I have," Reed commented, standing, legs wide, facing the two of them. He listened for any sounds of followers into the passage. There were none.  
  
"You will receive the payment we agreed upon," the other said, his voice more gentle, yet carrying an edge of menace.  
  
Reed nodded once, staring the taller of the two in the eye. His only interest in these people now was that they pay him, and then he could move on to the next client.  
  
One of them handed him a package, and he took it carefully, feeling its weight, and eyeing the client cautiously. This was a time when he needed to be on his guard the most. Some people often tried to do away with the employee, and then keep the money for themselves. That way, no one could be blamed for the crime, and no money was used for the deed.  
  
Neither of the two figures moved, and Reed came to the conclusion that they weren't up to anything. He pocketed the package, having no other choice but to trust the men. He had no doubt some of the money was missing, but for now, it would have to do. If he ever had a chance to retrieve the missing money. Reed would take it, without a second thought.  
  
Without saying another word, Reed turned slowly, and then walked away.  
  
* * *  
  
With a groan, he opened his eyes once again, and glanced around the room. There was a dim light coming from above him, and he looked up to see a single bulb hanging from the ceiling.  
  
He rolled over onto his back, and that was when he realised what he was wearing. Blue overalls, covered in grease and dirt. much like his hands.  
  
He quickly sat up, his head feeling as though it were spinning. That wasn't his main concern though.  
  
Where the hell was he? And what was he doing here?  
  
He couldn't remember a thing. 


	9. Searching For Answers

CHAPTER 9;  
  
SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS  
  
  
  
He shot to his feet the moment his head cleared, and began staring around the room, eyes wide with shock. He looked over at the small -and what seemed to be ruined- shuttlepod, and swallowed dryly.  
  
He had no recollection of this place, nor how he got here in the first place. Yet he was wearing a name badge with 'Trip' on it. Where had it come from?  
  
Where was everyone else?  
  
Trip refused to succumb to panic, and quickly realised that there was a large door to his right. He quickly moved over to it, and, calming himself beforehand, opened it.  
  
The double wooden doors swung open with a creak, and an early evening sky was revealed, a beautiful mixture of reds and oranges. Down on the ground on the other hand, strange buildings filled his vision, and stone paths and sidewalks ran in between the structures like grey rivers.  
  
He took a step out, and immediately felt vulnerable.  
  
What I would do for a phase pistol right about now, he thought to himself, his head beginning to pound.  
  
Trip couldn't think of any reasonable explanation for any of this, and he wished he knew where his communicator was. He felt around in the various zips and pockets covering the dirty overalls, but all he found was a couple of small crude tools, and a rag.  
  
He proceeded to wipe his filthy hands on the rag, tossing it aside shortly afterwards.  
  
Taking another step out into the evening, he looked back at the building he had woken up in. above it was what had to be living accommodations of some kind, and he wondered if there was an access in the garage before him.  
  
He jogged back in, and began searching around the room for another doorway.  
  
"Aha," he mumbled, feeling a doorknob beneath his hand, and he quickly turned it.  
  
The door opened after Trip gave it a tug, and a small staircase was revealed, leading directly upwards into darkness.  
  
Swallowing dryly again, he headed up the steps slowly, reaching out to the side walls for balance.  
  
Upon realising he was at the top of the staircase, he groped around for a light switch of some kind.  
  
He soon located a small switch, and flicked it on. A dull bulb came to life, revealing a small room, complete with bed, chairs and cooking facilities.  
  
"What the hell is goin' on?" he muttered, staring around at the primitive living accommodations. There was only just room to move around, and it was a wonder he hadn't stumbled over anything upon reaching the top of the stairs. The place was a mess.  
  
Clothes littered the far corner, and he quickly traversed the assault course-like conditions, rummaging through the clothing for something to wear. He needed to look as inconspicuous as possible out on the streets.  
  
But how did he know how. whoever lived here dressed? Was he back on Earth? Had the last seven months been a dream? No. he remembered everything up until now. The last thing he recalled was receiving a hail from a new race of aliens. they had called themselves. oh, what was it?  
  
"Mendovans," he said as he remembered suddenly, and located some clothes.  
  
He quickly changed into the loose baggy brown pants, and equally, if not more baggy long-sleeved grey sweater. He re-donned the grubby black boots, and stood once again, leaving the overalls on the bed.  
  
There wasn't anything that looked like a mirror, so he just quickly ran his hands through his hair, which felt in desperate need of cleaning. He longed for a shower, but whether or not one existed in the area, he was oblivious.  
  
Trip travelled back down the small staircase, and into the garage, past the shuttle, and out into the abandoned street.  
  
He swung the doors closed behind him. Since there didn't appear to be a lock, he didn't bother with one.  
  
He walked slowly down the streets, glancing into every alley, and taking a mental note of the route he took. The last thing he needed was to get lost in a place like this.  
  
Everything was unfamiliar, and he searched desperately for something he recognised. to no avail.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. He turned in that direction, and watched as more and more people appeared. It seemed to be a congregation of some kind.  
  
As he travelled closer, Trip realised there was a collection of different species. He recognised one in particular. Mendovans.  
  
He narrowed his eyes, and moved closer to the collection of people to see what was going on.  
  
He clenched and unclenched his fists nervously as he approached, the action hidden beneath the long sleeves of the grey sweater.  
  
Trip came to a stop at the back of the crowd, and managed to see over them to what was going on ahead of the mass of bodies.  
  
Several people were moving past, also a collection of different races. It seemed like a certain group of them had just arrived, and were staring around in awe of their surroundings.  
  
Three large figures travelled at the sides of the group, whilst there was a further one at the front, and another at the rear.  
  
Leading them was a shorter figure, with black hair and fair skin.  
  
Trip's eyes went wide as he saw the face of the figure.  
  
"Hoshi!" he called to her, but above the crowd's din, she obviously couldn't hear him.  
  
"Hoshi!" he shouted again, louder this time, and tried to find a way through the crowd.  
  
Before he could find a way through, the group had moved past. The crowd began to part, and Trip managed to wiggle through and into the middle of the street.  
  
No one seemed to care that there was only one human present in the crowd, but with the mixture of races Trip had already observed, he doubted they noticed.  
  
He started jogging down the street, searching desperately for Hoshi again.  
  
Trip came to a stop at an intersection of four streets, and what had to be the start of as market, milling with bodies.  
  
It was useless. Even if it was Hoshi he had seen. he wasn't going to find her again in this mass of figures and alien faces.  
  
Trip sighed, and walked towards the market. Maybe he could find some clue as to what was going on here. 


End file.
